The False King
by Ms.Lesia
Summary: After being imprisoned for inciting a rebellion against Asgardian rule, a young Vanr is left to rot in the dungeons until the day she is scheduled to be put on trial. There she encounters the god of mischief himself and winds up leaving a strong (and mostly negative) impression on him. How will this meeting shape their future together? Eventual LokiXOC Reviews are welcome!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

**OC's Thoughts**

_Loki's Thoughts  
_

"Speaking out load"

0000

First Person POV:

I hate it. This feeling that has completely shrouded me. My limbs rendered immobile. My eyes heavy and closed. My breath silent, but strained. Everything that used to come so easily now requires effort and concentration. Even now, I find myself forcing my eyelids open. I hate this feeling of helplessness.

Then I see it. The poison Odin has chosen to subdue me with. For two days I have lane motionless in the middle of this enchanted cage. Its confines housing a sparse, but effective, red smoke. It continues to spill from a golden fountain at the far corner of my cell. Its sent dulling my senses, zapping my physical strength, and inhibiting my magic.

I muster a glare in its general direction and exhale in exhaustion. In the cell adjacent to me, I can make out bits and pieces of an argument. At one point, someone, a man by the sound of his voice, yells at the woman he is conversing with.

**Father?... Does... does that make him... Odin's son?** I thought weakly; mentally willing my neck to turn toward them. The son of my enemy in this prison? Why?

"-am I not you're mother?"

Within a few seconds of hesitation he denies her.

Through blurry vision, I made out too familiar figures. I remember upon setting my sight on him. Loki. The God of mischief. The son who forever stood in his brother's shadow; his chances of ever succeeding Odin as king were non-exist sense the day he was born. After his literal falling out with his father and brother, I had written him off as a non-threat to my and my people's plans.

But as I lay here on this cold floor, completely defenceless... I couldn't stop the sudden rage that was burning brightly in my chest.

**B-bastard... you bastard. You so easily... dismiss her. Have you no heart...like that monster you once called... father.** My teeth moved against each other in a weak attempt at grinding. My fingers curled, lightly scratching the floor.

**At least... you have someone to call mother. **I thought bitterly.

To be honest, I could careless about the affairs Loki, Thor, or even Odin himself involved themselves in as long as they didn't prove to be detrimental to my home. But lying here, with my own family dead and my people nearly extinct, I found myself hating the man right across from me. He had a family. He had a home. And he threw it all away like it was nothing; and for what? A throne?

My fingers curled in further. I** hope you... enjoy you're kingdom... of dirt.**

Apparently his mother had tired of his words just as I had, because her presence, though I barely sensed it before, disappeared all of a sudden.

**An illusion... No it was her... Even as you are now... she still loves you... cares for you... If only you and Odin were so noble. **Despite my mostly equal dislike for all Asgardians, I couldn't help but sympathise with Queen Frigga. I sensed the hurt she harboured in response to son's confession.

A few minutes had passed after her departure, but before I could think about it, my lips were slowly forming sentences.

"Y-you." It came out as a soft sigh; highlighting none of the fury boiling over inside me.

"S-should not have..."

"S-spoken to her... in such a way."

0000

Third Person POV:

A few seconds of silence had followed, but her words did not fall upon deaf ears. His gaze was locked on the ancient text resting in his lap, but his eyes had stilled. They had widened ever so slightly at her choice of words and his jaw was set tight. Loki had assumed that his fellow prisoners had ignored the previous chat between himself and his mother. He was so distressed over the previous turn of events that he immediately poured himself into the nearest book he could find. To know that his moment of emotional out burst had entertained an audience irritated him. What made it worse was the fact that this prisoner felt the need to express an opinion on the matter.

He slowly lifted his head and his eyes bolted from his book toward the cell next to him. Immediately, he noticed the red smoke.

_Dragon's breath. Quite a rare substance; impairs an individual's senses, physical strength, and magical abilities._ A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. _You must be quite the fighter for Odin to go to such lengths to keep you under control._

Ignoring the smoke, Loki looked to the floor of the cell where she lay. His eyes lingered for a few seconds before they shut. Her body was bare. Her chocolate brown skin completely exposed and adorned with tribal signs and intricate patterns tattooed in a rich red paint. Her hair was wild; a dark-brown mass of kinky curls that pillowed her head and lower back all the way down to her hips. From where he sat he could see that her lips were broad, her nose was small and round with a narrow bridge, and that her eyes were down cast with thick, dark lashes. Her brows were thin and underneath each eye lay three red dots. Her figure was a fit pear shape; well toned while retaining prominent, feminine curves.

He screwed his eyelids together; anger nearly stunted.

"What did you say to me," he asked with less force then he originally intended. Opening his eyes again to look at her face.

He saw her eyes begin to open, revealing light brown irises.

"Y-you heard... me."

_You insolent little...! _His gaze lit with fury and bore into hers.

"If you are referring to the conversation I had earlier, then it was none of your concern you miserable sow." He spat with renewed vigour; wishing to permanently silence the woman.

Despite the relaxed look on her face, he interpreted her subtle facial movements as those to display outrage. It was clear in her eyes as they began to glow bright yellow. She was silent for a few seconds with her sight focused; as if she was looking passed him. Her body began to break out in a fine layer of sweat and it shock from over exhaustion. Suddenly, she blinked and her full attention was back on him.

"T-the words... you have spoken... against y-you're mother... you'll regret them."

_How dare you speak to me in such a way! _Anger was clear in Loki's body language, but his face twisted in the smallest hint of confusion.

"With what meaning do you speak, witch," he questioned through gritted teeth.

With great effort, he saw that she was forcing a sadistic grin across her face.

"Y-you... a stranger to me... shall share... the same p-pain... as I."

At this, Loki rose to his feet, taking long steps to the edge of cell. "What," he yelled.

"It is as I have f-foretold... Odin's son," she hissed as her grin widened.

_She possesses the natural ability of precognition?! _"What have you seen witch!"

With that her eyes shut and her face relaxed along with the rest of her body. The effort of speaking and moving had finally proved too much for her; she had fainted, fully satisfied with his reaction.

With no way of reaching her, Loki could do nothing but glare at her for several moments; stewing in his own anger.

"I do not know who you are or what you have done to warrant imprisonment, but you will pay for your words against me," he sneered as he turned away from her.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**OC's Thoughts**

_Loki's Thoughts  
_

"Speaking out loud"

0000

Third Person POV:

If it weren't for the shallow falling and rising of her chest, he would have proclaimed her dead. She had been unconscious since the day before and her body had not stirred in the slightest. _Impressive... this Vanr witch has more strength then I originally gave her credit._ He shifted on his bed so that his hands were behind his head and his eyes looked to the ceiling. _Still, she most be incredibly thick headed to assume that she could overcome the power of Dragon's breath._

Loki had reasoned that, shortly after she passed out, his tattooed neighbour was of Vanir descent and held from Vanaheim. More specifically, its southern point; going off her brown complexion and the use of warm colored paints on her skin. They were the only race throughout the nine realms he could think of that possessed the gift of future sight; and even then, only a small minority among them held any significantly powerful precognitive abilities. His thoughts then drifted back to his mother; remembering that she was born and raised in Vanaheim before becoming the queen of Asgard.

Their argument still fresh in his mind, Loki brought one of his hands forward to pinch the bridge of his nose and he exhaled sharply through it. _She is none of my concern_, he internally reminded himself. As if repeating the lie for a second time would make it any more true.

Suddenly, the large, double doored entrance to the dungeon swung open. _Finally_, he thought as he sat up; moving his feet off the bed and onto the floor. Dawn had come and with it the guards would begin their first shift. _Now for some answers._

"Meal time," one of the guards announced as another pushed a double decker cart. Its shelves held several bowls of gruel and small cups of water. Each guard had taken a cup and bowl and began distributing them to the prisoners.

Loki saw that the guard who had watched over his general area of the dungeon yesterday was approaching his cell at a calm pace. Loki's first impression of the man was that he was not the brightest being he had ever met, but he was not completely incompetent. The man's words had been few and he chose them carefully. Not out of fear of the Jotun prisoner or just for the sake of not looking stupid; Loki presumed that it was simply difficult for the man to express himself verbally. After he passed the bowl and cup through the golden force field of Loki's cell, he turned to go.

"Guard," Loki called as he remained seated on the other side of his cell. The man halted and slowly turned back to him.

"What is it you wish to share, prisoner?" The man spoke smoothly; his tone lacking any negative connotation. This irked Loki; despite this man's lack of hostility, he viewed Loki as nothing more than a common prisoner. That would not do.

He cleared his throat, preparing to answer. "It was my understanding that Asgard was in good standing with the realm of Vanaheim." One of the man's brows merely rose in confusion.

"I ask you, why is it that this dungeon houses a Vanr? One who is a associated with a race famous for their loving nature and immense wisdom?"

Loki could see that the man was deliberating on whether or not he should answer him. It satisfied him to see that his reputation as the God of lies still held weight.

"I would ask why you would wish to know...but you would surely lie," he answered while turning to leave.

"I see that Odin isn't as righteous of a king as others believe him to be. Resorting to underhanded methods to suppress the voice of a minority... Yes, that sounds like him."

The man froze, but he did not turn around. "That woman," he began, "incited rebellion..." Loki had not expected that; he leaned forward in interest. "No, more appropriately, a tragedy... that took the lives of several civilians. One of whom was my sister." The guard was now staring into the cell that caged the sleeping Vanr. "It was merciful that Odin saw her worthy of a trial." With that, the guard walked away to return to his duties.

_Interesting... The old man did say that the state of the other realms was chaotic... but to incite rebellion against Asgardian rule?_ Loki huffed in mild bafflement. Laying down on his bed, he looked to the ceiling again. _She most be a greater fool than I give her credit._

With a few of his questions answered, his mind drifted back to how he was going to escape this dull prison life.

0000

First Person POV:

It was strange. For what felt like the past few hours, I had not been asleep; I hadn't been conscious either. It was as if I was locked away in my own subconscious. It was... peaceful; and so I let my mind drift. I recalled memories of happier times. Of times when my family and I were together, safe and sound.

My family was quite an eccentric bunch.

My father... wasn't the strongest or most visually appealing man in our village; in fact he was tall and lanky with average looks at best. His skin was dark and his hair appeared to have migrated from his scalp to his thick beard. He wasn't the most clever of our tribe either. My mother would often joke about how her other suitors would rage about why she chose him over them. She told me she would always smile and answer with the same phrase: "No, he is not the smartest, strongest, or finest man I have ever seen, but he could make Hela herself crack a smile."

His sense of humour and cheery attitude was well received and known throughout our village. His smile brightened any day and his words could lightened any mood. He was a hopeless optimist and an endless fountain of good will. What I found most interesting about him was that, despite his habit of playing the jester, he held a sense of strength and dogged determination that I saw no man rival. Officially, his occupation was that of a humble farmer, but he dabbled in fishing, carpentry, and sewing. And despite our poorer then most living conditions, I can't recall ever going to bed hungry.

Surprisingly enough, what I found most entertaining about my father, aside from his jokes, was the banter between him and my mother. She was in many ways his opposite. She was short in stature with prominent curves. Her face was round, but most thought her to be beautiful... until she opened her mouth. She was not known to hold her tongue even among men. When she felt my father was being taken advantage of, she threaten to put an arrow between the eyes of the crook if he dared continue. Even as children, I remember my mother being pulled back into our tent by my father; all the while she would kick her feet and curse at a usually beaten or unconscious fellow, while my father through a string of apologies over his shoulder. My mother was a fierce woman, but she was also quite bright. Every morning, she instructed my sister and I in lessons on reading, writing, mathematics, and on becoming a "proper woman". She defined it as a woman who is completely self-efficient; she can sew her own clothes, prepare her own meals, and run a farm in the absence of a man.

Then there was my younger sister... she was so gentle. Where me and my mother shared the same brown skin and voluminous clouds of hair, she was of fairer complexion with her hair always corn-rowed down in long plaits. Apparently, my mother had fae on her father's side of the family. Like the serene soul she was, I would often find her off in the forest; napping in the grass or high a top tree branches reading to her hearts content. She wasn't as extroverted as my mother and father but when she did speak, her words spoke volumes. She was opinionated, but shy; voicing a side of an argument only when absolutely necessary. She inherited my mother's skill with a bow, but she detested violence of any kind; which often lead to disagreements between her and my mother and I. She didn't have a malicious bone in her body; even her appearance was the embodiment of non-threatening. Her face was round with high cheekbones, a mouth and nose that were small, and eyes that were wide and child-like just below her broad forehead.

Yes, she was my sister and they were my family.

**And... they didn't deserve to... to die the way they did...**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**OC's Thoughts**

"Speaking out loud"

0000

First Person POV:

It had been a lovely morning and, despite it being early, it was brighter outside than usual and the birds were tweeting away. Eventually their chatter became to much to ignore.

"Talkative today, I see," I whispered to myself with a giggle.

My sister looked up from the pancake batter she was stirring in her lap. She twisted her torso around to look behind her, but saw only our mother smoking a bit salmon over a fire. "Who do you speak of sister?" Her tiny brows knitting together in confusion.

I chuckled at her expression as I dropped the freshly cut lingo berries into her bowl. "The birds of course," I replied with a smile.

She was surprised at my answer and looked down to the bowl. I could see her cheeks grow pink. "Of course," she repeated as she mixed the batter a little harder then necessary.

I couldn't help it. I threw my arms around her small shoulders and placed my cheek to the crown of her head. I began to to shake us about a little and a gasp left her lips. "Ingrid, you are the most adorable creature I have ever set my eyes upon!"

We had been sitting cross legged next to each for some time now and with the tight side hug I was giving, she could only grip my forearm to steady herself.

I could see that her cheeks were growing brighter so I rubbed my nose into the top of her head.

"I-I am not adorable! Sister, I will be t-twelve this coming spring! I'm practically a young lady now!"

I had stopped shaking her and my arms squeezed tighter. "No," I wailed in exaggerated sorrow. "Stop this gradual maturation a once! I demand it! You must remain as my cute little sister!"

"That's enough Tyra," my mother stated dryly, her attention on the salmon smoking in the far corner.

"But mother," I whined playfully.

"You may give off the air of jesting, but I a sure you that Ingrid will always be your younger sister. You don't have to worry about that," she informed while turning the fish.

"But mother what of that nasty carpenter's boy that she has been conversing with lately?" Ingrid eyes shot up to mine; I could see all the color draining from her face.

"H-how did y-you-," she barely stuttered out.

"You said it yourself, dear sister. I am one of the best hunters in this village. Spying on a child isn't the most difficult task in the word," I responded with a wide grin.

"H-how dare you," she cried. Completely mortified, she attempted to struggle out of my grasp. I let her... in favor of tickling her. Her previous feelings were nearly forgotten as she squirmed and laughed against the carpeted floor.

"Now don't be shy; tell your sister all about this mystery boy," I encouraged while continuing to torture her. Ingrid tried to role away from me; all she managed to do was wrinkle the large orange cloth that was wrapped around her body and fashioned into a dress.

"N-never," she screeched through giggles.

"Tyra, stop tormenting your sister... and as I recall, I saw you and a young hunter leaving the far side of the forest together. Maybe I should discuss it with your father as soon as he comes in from tending to the animals," she suggested with a slight smirk.

Immediately my hands left Ingrid and I flew to my mother's side. "How did you know about that?!" My chest was tight and my words were rushed and nervous.

"Mothers know everything my dear. Especially about the young men their daughters involve themselves with," she answered while looking at me from the corner of her dark brown eyes.

"Now," she began as she turned around to face Ingrid, "have you two stopped fooling around long enough to finish that batter? Today is a special day remember?"

"Y-yes mother," I answered quickly, returning to Ingrid's side to take the pancake patter to the skillet waiting over the fire.

She sighed with a smile as she scratched at one of her thick eyebrows. "There will be plenty of time to talk and jest tonight, but, as soon as your father leaves, we have a lot to prepare-."

"Prepare for what my beautiful Queen," inquired my father as he stepped through the front flap of our tent.

My mother, as sharp as ever, answered without hesitation.

"Why for the market, of course. The crops are plenty ripe and you will be off performing odd jobs all day at the next town over," my mother replied coolly. It was actually my father's day of birth; how he managed to forget every year, I never understood.

Placing his satchel and shoes at the entrance, he walked over to kiss my mother good morning while placing kisses a top me and my sister's heads.

"I see that my princesses are blossoming into young Queens as well," he added with a smile.

"Yes... you should expect young kings to come soon to take them away," my mother hinted as she placed the smoked salmon on plates. I almost dropped one of the pancakes in mid flip and the jug of water in Ingrid's grip nearly slipped to the floor.

My father's eyes grew wind and his mouth hang open.

**And so it begins... **I internally groaned.

0000

Breakfast wasn't as dreadful as I thought it would have been, but it was still relatively unpleasant for Ingrid and I. Despite the fact that I was well of age and Ingrid was to be soon, my father animatedly forbid us to marry. Saying that we were to forever remain his little princesses. My mother had managed to calm him down by redirecting his attention to the food and he was elated to see what had been prepared. Any dish that incorporated lingo berries or lamb's meat was his favorite.

After the meal was finished and my father was seen off, our mother turned to us; her eyes and voice filled with excitement.

"We'll begin with the farm work. Ingrid, I want you to milk the cow and collect all the eggs that the chickens have lane. Tyra, you and I will get a head start on gathering all the ripened vegetables. Whatever looks the best, we keep for ourselves; everything else goes to the market with you girls."

Turning away for a moment, my mother retrieved a piece of a paper from under a pot of flour. "This is a list of items I want you two to pick up at the market. I can't go with you because I'll be preparing things here. Remember, sell what you can, trade what you can't, and don't let Jarl trick you into any of his schemes. You buy nothing from him; is that understood?"

We both nodded in unison.

"Good," she started with a smile, "Now let's remind that father of yours that birthdays come every year."

0000

Our harvest that day had not been large, but by the grace of the Norns it had been decent. Ingrid and I had stuck to our mother's instructions and quickly headed off to the market. There, we were able to produce an adequate amount of profit that was able to get us almost all of the items on our mother's list. With plenty of time to spare, we decided to head back home.

"Today's venture at the market proved to be fruitful my sister," I commented with a grin. I held most of the heavier groceries, while Ingrid shouldered a bag of salt.

"Except for the lamb," she replied sullenly. I pressed my lips into a fine line at her words.

To be more efficient with time, Ingrid and I had divided the list into two and went about buying up its contents as quickly as possible. The only thing we were unable to get was the lamb which was on Ingrid's portion of the list. Someone, a rather rude fellow, had dove in front of her place in line to snag the last bit of lamb's meat. My sister, as meek as she was, attempted to call the man out on his actions, but he brushed her off. She was in the middle of bargaining with the man for the meat when I walked up. Apparently, my reputation for being as fierce as my mother proceeded me, because he took off in a hurry when I was within ear shot.

I manoeuvred the bag in my right hand over my left shoulder. With the hand now free, I placed it atop my sister's head.

"Do not fret, dear sister. If you'll recall, I am one of the best hunters in our village. I'll find us something to feast upon," I reassured with a grin.

"Tyra, you know as well as I do that the sun will be setting soon. Even I wouldn't dare shot an arrow after darkness has fallen," she countered with her eyes still low to the ground.

"True," I agreed as we slowly approached our tent. Carefully, I looked around to see if anyone was around. Seeing that we were alone, I leaned over and whispered, "But we both know that my eyes are far sharper then yours."

Ingrid froze in place and I had to catch myself in mid stride.

"Do not jest about something like that so openly," she whispered harshly. "You do understand what would happen if someone were to have heard you!"

"Ingrid, calm down; there's no one around to hear," I assured her. Our home was on the very edge of our village and far off from the other tents.

"There are always stray ears when you least expect them Tyra," she warned; the words tumbling from her mouth. Tears began to prick at her eyes and her gaze stuck to the dirt ground.

I placed my things to the floor, turning around to hug her.

"I did not mean to upset you... I was being foolish with my words. You know that I am well aware of what would happen if others found out about me."

"They'd take you away," she deduced while a few tears stained her cheeks.

"I'm not going anywhere." She finally returned my hug; her grip growing more intense with each passing second of silence.

"Come on... we still have to help mother prepare the feast and wash up before father returns."

She nodded her head while wiping at her eyes gently.

"And don't worry about the lamb," I said while stepping away to pick up the groceries. She gave me a small smile as she swung the bag of salt over her shoulder.

Walking into our tent, we nearly collided with our mother who was standing behind its flap. Before we could utter a word of greeting, she threw her arms around us and hugged us close.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**OC's Thoughts  
**

_Loki's Thoughts_

"Speaking out loud"

0000

First Person POV:

Those hours of hurried preparation and excited chatter had flown by in a pleasant blur. My sister and I had our hands busy for the better part of two hours cutting vegetables, stirring batters, seasoning dishes, and curing whatever bits of meat that were left over. In spite of being mentally exhausted with our hands aching, our mother's work had put ours to shame. During our time at the market and up until now, she had managed to clean the inside of our tent from top to bottom. She dusted the rugs carpeting our home; washed, folded, and put away all of our clothes; cleaned the dishes and even brought out the few fine quality plates we owned. She also revealed that she had sewn new clothes for all of us to wear, including some for our father, for our feast. We were even instructed to wash our hair that night because she was going to corn row it down.

Despite being the super woman that she was, she did benefit from having an extra pair of hands. She no longer had to scamper about between pots and pans; praying to the Norns that nothing had burned.

By the time we finished cooking, the moon had rose well into the night.

While my sister went off behind our tent to bath, I was helping my mother put the finishing touches on the food. Carefully, she poured the cabbage soup my sister cooked into a decorative pot while I placed dozens of wheat bread dumplings into a wide basket. I then transfered steaming hot mashed potatoes from pot to bowl and my mother placed thick chunks of smoked pork onto a large, floral plate.

The quiet sizzling in the pan behind me alerted us that the apples were ready. After giving them one last good stir, honey and cinnamon coating each slice, my mother poured them onto another wide plate. A few minutes later, Ingrid walked in form the rear opening of our tent; skin freshly washed and hair hanging loose in tight curls. She had changed into a new kente cloth dress that displayed rich greens and blues with hints of white and black; it's design was A-line and strapless.

"You look beautiful," my mother breathed as she whipped a bit of sweat from her brow. She then motioned for Ingrid to come sit in her lap, producing a comb from the pocket on her apron.

"Hurry and get ready Tyra as I work on Ingrid's hair. I want my two princesses to look their best for the feast tonight," my mother sighed happily.

Grabbing my new dress and a piece of soap, I kissed my mother's cheek and headed toward the back of our tent.

I had cooled down a bit after she had put out the fire in our tent, but my body was still sticky with dried sweat. **Lovely...** I thought as I eagerly stripped off my clothes. Looking toward the large barrels of water in front of me, I grabbed one of the buckets next to them and scooped up some water.

**1... **I dumped the water over my head as quickly as possible; it didn't make the experience any warmer. Shivering a bit, I lathered the soap all over my body and through my hair; scrubbing away the day's grim.

**Two times a day and I still can't get used to this dreadful water. **Lifting my feet from the rug underneath me, I washed between my toes and over my rough heels.

Taking another bucket of water, I washed away all trances of soap and reached for a towel. When I was dry, from toes to scalp, I slipped into the dress my mother had sewn for me. It was an off the shoulder, sleeveless kente cloth dress that displayed wild patterns of reds, oranges, and yellows. Surprisingly, it was a bit snug.

Removing the towel from my fully dried afro, I surveyed the dress with the little light I had.

**How is it that she can be deadly with a bow AND skilful with a sewing needle ...** I smiled as I turned this way and that, admiring my mother's work. **I also see that this new exercise routine is yielding wonderful results.** I thought as my smile became more toothy.

SNAP!

Immediately, I bolted around; snatching the dagger that rested on top of my soiled clothes. I never had to use it up until this point, the people inhabiting my village being a peaceful lot, but, seeing as my father was absence the majority of most days, both of my parents advised me and Ingrid to be armed at all times.

"Ty-," a weak voice groaned out. My eyes widened and I stepped back towards the tent.

"Who's there," I yelled, alerting my mother and sister on the other side of the flap. They were at my sides in mere seconds.

"I hope you've prepared yourself for Valhalla," my mother yelled with an arrow drawn and ready. "More like Hel," I scuffed.

Ingrid stepped in between us to lift both her hands to our weapons. "Please... surrender at once and the worst you'll experience is imprisonment."

"And a good throttling," I added loudly.

"Tyra," the voice groaned again. My mother's bow fell from her hands and she raced to the edge of the forest ahead of us.

"Osmond," she screamed as she bolted into the bushes. At the sound of our father's name Ingrid and I quickly followed.

We didn't get five steps passed the tree line before we saw him. He was sitting; hunched over in front of a tree with his left hand grasping at his bloody side. His breathing was quick and his body was shaking from head to toe.

"Father," we both cried as we fell to sit near him, our mother already at his side with his head resting on her shoulder. She was shivering as well.

"Signy," he wheezed out.

"Yes Osmond," my mother answered through a choked sob.

"T-take the girls... nothing else... and l-leave this village," he stuttered out.

His breathes were growing more shallow by the second.

"F-father please! We can get you to a healer! There's still time," Ingrid pleaded through heavy tears. He merely shock his head at her; her eyes growing wide in disbelief.

"By then... they'll be upon us."

"Who," I finally spoke; voice even, but tears still streaked my face. He lifted his head to look at me. I gasped at the shallow cuts littering his face.

"The Marauders," he answered.

0000

Third Person POV:

It had been three days since Tyra passed out from exhaustion. Instead of jolting awake, her eyes remained closed as she drew awareness to her own breathes. **That dream again...**

Her eyes opened softly to reveal the red smoke still polluting the air around her. Thin brows came closer together in irritation. **Dragon's breath... **A barely audible groan escaped her lips.

"I see that you have returned to the realm of the living. How pleasant."

She willed her neck to turn towards the source of the voice. Eyes falling on the long figure reclining on a bed; it continued to toss and catch a small ball repeatedly into the air. **Loki.** Tyra forced a frown upon her lips.

Catching the ball, Loki turned his head to face her; their eyes locking.

"Not so talkative today I see," he stated with a chuckle. "Are you not interested in finishing our last conversation." He saw that her eyes now focused on the thin ribbon's of red smoke dancing in front of her. _So she knows about the Dragon's Breath... did she the whole time? If so, why would she risk death just to spite me? _One of his brows raised in an unimpressed manner._ Her reasons seem to be quite petty._

"You know, as you slept, and pardon any unintended rudeness on my part, I couldn't help but admire those extraordinary tattoos." His gaze skimmed over the expanse of her intricate body work. Tyra's eyes never left his as she remained completely relaxed; as if his lingering eyes meant nothing to her.

"Yes... I found them so fascinating that the origin of those patterns sparked my curiosity." He paused to see her eyes grow hard. Reaching for the book in front of him, Loki began to leisurely flip through its worn pages.

"The Vanir," he looked up to see Tyra avert her eyes from his, "were a race renowned for there extensive knowledge of magic." Loki continued to turn the book's pages.

"So great was their power that they could create and conduct spells that could only be performed by those of Vanir descent." His halted his movements as he found the page he was looking for. "Most of those exclusive spells being forbidden because of their use of black magic."

"Tell me," he said holding up the book and facing its marked pages toward Tyra, "does this jug any memories?"

Her eyes widened at the words written in her mother tongue. She stiffened as tears began to well in her eyes; the tragic memories of her past were being relived in silence. _I was right... as usual. _He thought with a smirk.

"Now my ancient Vanirian isn't as polished as it used to be -and correct me if I am wrong- but the name of this spell seems to translate as "The Family's Blood Seal", yes?"

The tears in her eyes finally fell and her pupils expanded to frightening proportions.

"You've peaked my interest yet again Vanr," he replied with mock cheer slapping his book shut. "By chance," he paused to rub his chin in contemplation, "did you murder your entire family or watch them expire, one by one, before those pretty little eyes of yours?"

Her sight snapped back to his and she forced her lips to bare her teeth. "M-monster," she stuttered angrily through heavy tears.

"I'll assume the latter then; since one of the two situations is required for someone to perform the spell," he stated dryly as he stood to his feet; walking to the edge of his cell.

"Yet there's something that's been pestering me." His eyes met hers in a heated glare. "For an individual who has obtained the power of the seal through murder, their body is littered with black tattoos; to symbolise the use of dark magic I suppose. Magic that is so incredibly powerful, by the way, that it drives its user to insanity and, in most recorded cases, suicide."

"In the other situation, the power is of less dark origin, but intensifies the wielder's desire for revenge. Once fulfiled, the blood of the user's deceased family members forever marks their skin; also branding them as a user of black magic."

"Here's where I'm at a lose," he stated with a wide, manic looking grin, "clearly you have enacted revenge against those who have wronged you... yet I can sense great power coursing through you. Especially, now that you have awoken after three days of resting."

He placed his fist to the wall of his cell and leaned in. "How is that possible? That power should have left you the second you wiped out your family's murderers."

Her eyes were as hard and as cold as Loki's; lips sealed into a defiant line.

He chuckled out of nowhere, his wild smile returning. "You'd sooner spit on me then tell me, correct?"

Suddenly, the heavy falls of feet and the excited cries for freedom filled the empty air between them. **What the Hel...** Tyra willed her neck to turn in the opposite direction. Her eyes fell upon the rapid movement of freed bodies throughout the dungeon. **A prison brea****k... but how? **Her gaze continued to wander until it landed on a large demonic figure. She gasped in shock. **That's... impossible... A dark elf... **Her mind recalled memories of her sister's history books and her father recalling the stories of his father before him. ** They've long been... extinct. There's no way... and a... a Kursed one at that.**

Following its movements, she watched the threatening creature make its way toward the area in between her and Loki's cells. Then it stopped, turning to face away from her. The throne-happy, ex-prince looked to the creature expectantly, waiting for it to release him. After a short deliberation, the Kursed turned away from him to face Tyra's cell. She blinked her eyes in disbelief. When they reopened, not a second later, her cage had been shattered along with the golden fountain spewing Dragon's breath.

She could hear Loki speaking to creature next to her, but she ignored them; choosing to focus on regaining her strength as soon as possible. The Dragon's breath had ceased production and was steadily dispersing throughout the large room into ineffective concentrations. Within in seconds, she was stumbling to her feet; in less then a minute she was making her way off the platform of her cell. Feet slapping against the equally bare ground, she began to walk more easily toward Loki's cell. Then she stopped, looking him dead in the eyes; his expression as hard as stone.

Her face was devoid of emotion. She did not glare, she did not smile, she didn't so much as chuckle... but she did spit. It landed right in front of his face and Loki didn't flinch.

"You spoke of my tragedy, my pain, so nonchalantly," she stated; her voice devoid of any hint of being upset. Slowly her head tilted and her eyes began to glow bright yellow. "My only wish is that I could be here in the future to see you wallowing in your own self induced melancholy."

As if on cue, the mighty hammer Mjolnir zoomed pass Tyra's head, its force whipping her hair around her shoulders.

A small smile played on her lips. "I see that the better son is here to ruin my fun." The tattoos adorning her skin began to glow a bright red and she levitated off the ground. With the wink of an eye, Tyra vanished into thin air.


End file.
